


Save the Last Dance

by keiliss



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dancing in the Rain, M/M, Midwinter, Mithlond, Second Age, Starting Something New
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 04:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17135342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keiliss/pseuds/keiliss
Summary: In which Glorfindel finally gets to dance in the rain with Erestor.





	Save the Last Dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doodlinglisy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=doodlinglisy).



> For my giftee Doodlinglisy over on Tumblr.

"The whole thing's a complete cliché." Erestor said in a tone that allowed no room for argument. "Elvenkind hasn't been one big happy family since… probably since we woke up at Cuiviénen. I assume things were all right then, at least - no one killing anyone, things like that?"

Glorfindel grinned briefly. Erestor came out with some outrageous things but as long as it wasn't outright blasphemy he was learning to deal with it. And to be honest, having the time and enough privacy for Erestor to be outrageous was a rare luxury and meant to be savoured. "I wouldn't know, how old do you think I am anyhow? But the objective is nice."

"Nice is a tepid kind of word," Erestor went on, relentless. "The truth is, no one likes anyone. The Telerin don't like the Sindar, the Sindar are uncomfortable about the Avari, the Noldor are still bitter about the ban and think they're better than everyone, the Vanyar KNOW they're better than anyone..."

Glorfindel, the son of a Noldor father and Vanyar mother, bristled. "Hey. I don't think I'm better than anyone. And I like all the decorations and the candles too. Why can’t you just enjoy it?"

Erestor was unrepentant. "Unlike you I've been watching this festival grow and expand since Gildor and Galadriel got bored one winter on Balar and put the original ceremony together. I wouldn't mind asking what they thought of it now, if there was a way to do that and survive."

Glorfindel had managed to waylay Erestor when he arrived – late - and draw him off to the side of the big reception hall in the palace, the one where major events were staged including this solstice gathering where the dead were honoured and the living pledged themselves to peace and unity amongst elvenkind. The hall was festooned with boughs of holly and assorted greenery, silver and gold moons and stars, little coloured lanterns, paper flowers and other festive fare. And then he had made the mistake of saying how pretty it looked.

"Everyone is all peace and love for a day or two and then they go back to normal, mocking the tree dwellers, making jokes about the Avari..."

"I've never heard anyone do that," Glorfindel said doubtfully and got an eyeroll in return.

"People are respectful around you because you're…” Erestor made a gesture with his hand. “…you? Half of them think you have private chats with the Valar when no one's looking."

Glorfindel stared at him. "You have to be joking, why would I do that? Why would they do that? What would we talk about?"

"No idea.” Erestor shrugged. “Maybe the same as Ulmo and Círdan - that's an old rumour, and on Balar it wasn't hard to believe. He was odd there, used to go off down to his private beach in all weathers..."

"Good to see you again, Erestor. Will you be spending the winter here?" 

Glorfindel had no idea who the elf was, though he had seen him around. He forced down irritation and reminded himself that an uninterrupted conversation with Erestor in public was always going to be unlikely. As it was, he came and went from Mithlond with such regularity that, in Glorfindel’s mind, it was little short of a miracle that there had been the chance to get to know him at all, much less develop something that on Erestor’s side at any rate seemed to indicate friendship. Glorfindel’s feelings were a bit more complex, but there had been no chance to explore just how complex. He held high hopes for the next few months though, confined to the palace with the rain coming down in sheets and the promise of snow.

Erestor shook his head, strands of red garnets woven through black hair catching the light. "No, I'm off again in a few days. I don't think they know what they're doing half the time - and yes, I've said that to Gildor's face too." Gildor ran Lindon’s extensive intelligence network and Erestor nominally answered to him.

"But you just got back." Glorfindel had not meant to say anything, the words just happened. 

Erestor's eyebrows rose slightly and he shrugged. "I'd noticed, yes. But - oh, I think they're looking for you over there, Caladon." He waited a moment for the other to move out of earshot then continued, "They’re sending me back to Eregion, there's concern about things in Ost-in-Edhil so I'm meant to go sniff around, or something."

Glorfindel frowned. He had arrived after Elrond and Gil-galad's by now infamous encounter with Annatar, the self-styled giver of gifts. Elrond’s retelling had struck false notes for him: this sounded like no Vanyar he had ever met and there had been no stories before he left Aman of anyone loitering on the far shore once the war, which he had missed, was over. "I know the king expected Artanis - I mean Galadriel - to be here now. I was looking forward to seeing her."

Erestor, watching something or someone across the room, nodded. "The Lady isn't predicable. The gods know, I had fun trying to second guess her while I worked for her, but she had seemed keen to be here. That's mainly what they're worried about. There've been no letters recently and that’s odd, she hates not knowing what's happening."

"So you have to go and find out." Glorfindel nearly added that the Galadriel he had known could look after herself but knew it would sound churlish.

"That and just generally see what's going on there. Celebrimbor, apparently, is being as clear as morning fog. So I'll wander in, out of the rain and snow, just passing and thought I'd stop by and say hello. Or something. Hopefully Gil will think to give me some papers to deliver or something - you can usually trust him at least to be practical." His tone suggested the same could not be said for Gildor or the Council.

A line of beadwork on Erestor's ornately beaded tunic was taking on a life of its own and without thinking lGlorfindel reached over to straighten it, his fingers tracing smooth pearl and warm fabric almost of their own accord. Erestor’s eyes followed their path from under long lashes. "I like this, it suits you,” Glorfindel said quietly. “I’ve not wanted to ask but what made you decide on... well, what you do for a living."

"I'm a gatherer of information and occasional spy," Erestor said with a wry smile, looking up again. "Please don't tell me Turgon had no such people. It's important work and I'm supposed to be good at it. Though I'd hoped for a bit more time off the road and maybe a chance to sort through what others bring home instead. Life out there is cold and wet this time of the year, even without misery like today’s storm."

"Surely if you asked?"

Erestor tossed back his hair and looked quizzically up at him. "If I asked, of course I could stay home. No one forces me to do this, but it's necessary, so I do it. Not just because they're worried. I'm worried about her too."

Glorfindel spread his hands in wordless apology. "Of course. Just, I had thought you would be home for a while in this weather. "

"Oh?" The smile was there, barely visible but hinted at by the quirk of his lips and the sparkle in his amber eyes.

"Yes, oh. As you said, it's evil out there." 

"It's that, yes. Oh, at last. Gil finally got here. Now maybe we can get on with this so they can start serving dinner. I'm starved."

\-----o

The Midwinter celebrations centred around a series of speeches and the lighting of candles in memory of those lost in the past year, followed by food, drink and dancing. There was a special welcome for Glorfindel, whose first Midwinter this was after his return, and who had been sent out of the West by the Valar themselves, or so it was assumed, to be an aid to Lindon as the days grew darker. Glorfindel had some personal doubts about who really was behind his being there, but he had always loved adventure and new things and so it had been easy to agree.

Adventure and new things brought with them a relaxation of old rules about morality, which had been based on the edicts of the early fathers of the Quendi, whose lives had been simpler than those of their grandchildren. Which meant that Glorfindel would be able to ask Erestor to dance with him later, after the feasting and good wishes, when the musicians had been playing long enough for him to not look too eager. He felt a little like a child the day before his Conception Day, complete with butterflies and barely contained impatience.

The problem was that Erestor made himself comfortable on the steps of the dais where Gil-galad’s chair was placed and sat talking with Elrond. Glorfindel, who had told himself jealousy was for children so many times it was taking on the shape of a mantra, bided his time and paced his drinking so that his head would stay clear and his tongue under control. Eventually he got tired of waiting and wishing people, most of whose names he was surprised to find he remembered, a blessed return of light and went over to explore the trays of leftovers. When he looked around, holding a thin stick strung with pieces of unidentifiable fruit and what looked like chicken, Erestor was nowhere to be seen.

Glorfindel cursed under his breath, discarded the skewer and began his search for the elusive elf.

He eventually found him outside, leaning on the terrace’s balustrade, looking out over the garden towards the heavier dark of the sea. The rain had eased, but the lanterns that normally studded the grounds during a party or salon remained unlit. Glorfindel stopped beside him and breathed in the cold, salty air.

“It’s freezing out here,” he said. “Are you getting in shape for your trip to Eregion?”

“I’ll have a rain cloak then at least,” Erestor said, not looking at him. He was running his fingers over the wet marble, drawing a pattern seen only by him.

“It’s noisy inside. Probably be more people taking a break out here if they realised the rain had stopped.” He wanted to ask what was wrong, because something plainly was, but Erestor had a habit of retreating when pressed for information.

There was silence between them. In the background the sounds of music and voices inside the palace continued. They seemed far away from all that warmth and company, in a cold dark world that had no connection to a party. Finally Erestor said, “I thought you might dance with me. There’ll be a lot of parties while I’m gone, you can do whatever it was you’ve been doing tonight then.”

Glorfindel ignored the wet and leaned an elbow on the balustrade, staring down at him. “You wanted me to dance with you? But you’ve spent the night talking to Elrond and – whoever.”

“Whoever’s name is Caladon, I work with him. And Elrond’s in a foul mood so I was trying to tease him out of it. He and Círdan always seem to rub each other the wrong way. That’s what I’ve been doing. And waiting for you to ask me to dance, because you looked as though you might.”

“I was waiting for you to – look available, I suppose.”

Erestor’s eyes met his, held. “I’m available.”

The rain started again softly, drops kissing Glorfindel’s face. Erestor’s black hair was damp enough to have a soft sheen to it where the terrace lamp caught it. Neither of them moved. Finally Glorfindel reached out to touch the shimmer of a garnet, let his knuckles slide down over ear and temple and cheekbone. Erestor was looking up at him, all dark, shadowed eyes and winter-pale skin. 

“To dance? Or…?”

“Or, probably,” Erestor said in a voice almost softer than the turning tide out in the gulf. “Dancing too, but mainly ‘or’.”

Glorfindel moved his hand down to Erestor’s long, smooth neck, slid his fingers under black hair. Erestor’s skin, despite the weather, was faintly warm. “And then you’ll leave,” he said, his voice as quiet. “I watch you come and go and come and go and every time we seem to get a little closer and then you leave. And now…”

With the important things in life he always preferred action to words. Drawing Erestor closer he began to move with the music that drifted faint but clear from the main hall, rocking rather than trying any steps. Erestor’s hesitation was only momentary, and then he settled into a dance pose and started to move with him, one hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder. They danced to the music, a slow song, alone on the terrace, on wet stone under a cloud-dark sky. It was cold and their steps were untidy and not strictly in time, but Erestor’s hand was in his and he was humming the melody softly.

The music faded at last and after a pause sped up into a group number. They stilled, bodies close, then Erestor reached up and kissed his cheek. “I’ll come back you know, I always do. And then there will be time for us. But now I’ve had my dance, and I’m ready for ‘or’. Unless you want to go back inside.”

“I think we’ve celebrated midwinter as traditionally as anyone,” Glorfindel replied, his lips against Erestor’s hair. “Now it’s time to find our own way to bring back the warmth and light.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go to Red Lasbelin, both for the idea and the last minute, late night beta. No Red, no fic! (I think this has happened before)  
> 


End file.
